


Repost

by neverweremine



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: Other, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22432615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverweremine/pseuds/neverweremine
Summary: It's a repost.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Repost

**Author's Note:**

> Things we’ve hopefully learned from this:
> 
>   1. It’s not okay to ask artists for fanart for a fic you’ve read when 
>     1. You don’t know the artist personally. 
>     2. You’re not offering/willing to pay for said art. 
>     3. _Especially _if the artist isn’t even the fandom you’re trying to get art from.
>     4. You send the same cookie cutter message, “Hey, I like this thing you draw, have you read fic by so and so that has nothing to do with what you draw? Please draw it.”
>   2. When someone blocks you then unblocks you, in the hopes you won’t notice and leave them alone, and then privates their twitter, it’s not okay to
>     1. Change your profile and username and send a follow request to try and trick that person into letting you follow again. 
>     2. _**Change your profile and username back to what it was a day later, **thus sending someone into a paranoid anxiety spiral for weeks._
>   3. I should stop letting internet people send me into anxiety and deleting fics I’ve worked hard on as a result.

The first thing that crossed Jesper's mind when Klaus removed his hood, face aglow from the lantern shining through the window was:

1) Maybe I can sneak away now.  
2) He didn't look half as scary with it off.  
3) This man was a bleeding heart.

A jumbled series of thoughts, but the day had been a jumbling series of events. Even as he trembled behind his desk, a pot on his head and a stolen harpoon in his hands, Jesper couldn't forget the way the woodsman looked; eyes wide with wonder; reminiscent of past nannies not yet jaded by his brand of deception. Gullible. Nothing to be done with the information though. Manipulation only had its fun when one could get away with it, and with none of his dad's money to back him up, not to mention the considerable size difference between the two; better to let old dogs lie.

That was _before_ the children came to his porch waving letters.

.

The silence was killing him. It really was. Jesper had never been fond of silences. He'd once hired a band to follow him around for that exact reason, and it had been a splendid 24 hours of flutes, clarinets, and beating drums before his dad found out and fired them, which was so not cool. Most uncool thing ever, you know, besides the 'forcing your son to work in a small, freezing island's bit. But bottom line: silence is terrible.

And Klaus breathed silence. He radiated this oppressive force that muted everything in a mile radius, the force of which made even Jesper's chatter mouth reluctant to speak.

But he hated silences.

"If this is becoming a regular event — which judging by the increasing number of kids on my front porch every morning; it is— we should get to know each other better." He held out his hand. "As I said, I'm Jesper Johannsen, the daily postman. And you are…?"

"Klaus." The woodsman's eyes stayed on the road, his hands firm on the reigns. Jesper nodded, lowering his arms. Yeesh, not even a handshake.

"Klaus. That's a nice name. Very strong. It suits you. Is that your first name or last?"

The moment the words left his mouth, they vanished; sucked into the black hole centered on the man beside him. No response. He nodded to himself as if Klaus had answered and continued, "I've heard some rumors that poor people can't afford names. I thought it was a joke but — I mean, not to say you're poor or anything but…"

He drifted off, eyes darting toward his riding companion. Klaus was stoic; face covered in shadows. Without thought, Jesper reached over and pulled the hood off. "You look better without this thing. I mean, you're already intimidating, you don't need a… a …"

Jesper leaned back as far away from Klaus' narrowed eyes as he could. "But, what do I know about fashion?" Noticing the hand still held aloft in the cramped space between them, Jesper snatched it back. "You look great! Not intimidating at all. I -"

The carriage slowed to a creaky stop. Jesper slammed his eyes shut as a paw the size of his torso reached out. He was going to die in this miserable freezing town — and for what? Because he said the man looked less like an ax murder without his hood? It was a compliment!

Two hands grabbed under his armpits and he panicked as Klaus lifted him so his feet hovered several feet in the air — was Klaus gonna carry him off a cliff?— before his shoes touched soft snow. The hands withdrew and Jesper opened his eyes to find a present under his nose.

"We're at the first house," The woodsman explained in that slow rumbling voice of his.

"Right. Yes. Delivering presents. 'Cause that's what I do. I'm the postman. Postmen deliver presents." He took the wrapped bundle, careful not to brush his fingers against the woodsman's, and faced the boarded up skeletal house. Right. This part. The best part. The part with the bear traps and the dogs and the harpoons and the bruises. "I did not sign up for this." He muttered as he began climbing the iron-wrought fence.

When he returned, feet aching and the tips of his sideburns singed, Klaus was sans hood. He stayed sans hood until morning, and later, Jesper will have forgotten it even existed.

.

There was one Krum house trickier than the rest, but which reaped the greatest rewards. "Come to papa," he said, rubbing his palms together. His mouth had salivated at the first hint of the delectable treat. The first bite of the cookie was smooth as butter and the way it melted into his mouth made his knees weak. He gobbled most of it, taking refreshing sips of the nearby glass of milk between bites.

As his hand hovered over the last cookie, it hit him. He could bring this one to Klaus. If he couldn't charm his way into the man's good graces, then bribery was the next best thing. A part of him rebelled. Klaus didn't deserve these treats. All he did was sit outside while Jesper worked his butt off and steal credit. _Oh, the magical Mr. Klaus. The fantastical, magical Mr. Klaus who flew down chimneys and sneaked off in the night without a sound._ As the kids' praises echoed back to him, Jesper's decision became resolute. These cookies were Jesper's and Jesper's alone.

.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like? It's a cookie." Jesper waved the dessert between them, shoving away the snout of a newly tamed reindeer as he did so. Klaus face was set in stone but his eyes traced his hand's movement, betraying his interest.

"Why do you have it?"

"It's for you." He shoved it into the man's face. "Kid left it for you; had a little note and everything. You taking it or not?"

"I'm not one for sweets." But Klaus accepted it, sniffing it once before taking a bite. The moment it touched his tongue, his eyes lit up. "This is good." He demolished the rest of the cookie in two bites. So the man _was_ human. Jesper grinned. When Klaus finished, he had crumbs in his beard and an eager look to him. "Was there only one?"

Ah, bribery. Never failed.

"Well, I kind of ate the rest, but I'm sure the other houses have cookies. I overheard the kids saying they'd set more out. There's milk too, but I'm not stooping low enough to steal the glasses, so unless you want to drink milk out of my hat-"

"It's fine," Klaus said. He was smiling again. It wasn't as large as the smile the man wore earlier, deep laughter erupting from stiff lips, cheeks rosy as the reindeer dashed forward and dragged them along — but it still threw Jesper for a loop. Something tickled his throat, and he coughed before entering the carriage.

"Off to the next house. These presents wait for no one."

So what if he sneaked out cookies until Klaus begged no more? They were tasty. He wasn't so cruel that he'd prevent someone from tasting one of the little wonders this town offered. Not like Klaus had delights to look forward to in his little woodsman home. He was being gracious. Nothing more.

.

The first time an Ellingboe smiled at him, Jesper ducked behind the stall, bracing himself for a harpoon to strike him, or a knife, or a bear trap, or a dog, or a flaming arrow — he had come to expect anything — but as soon as he drew his knees to his chest, the owner clucked his tongue and pulled him up. "None of that. Here, how about I get you something? It's on the house."

Jesper's eyes popped open. "Free?" He liked free. After living here, paying for his own food and supplies, he learned he loved free. "What is it?" He extended his hands in a 'give me' motion but soon regretted it as Mr. Ellingboe plopped a large, dead fish in his open palms.

"Hope you like it!"

The stench was awful and as long and gangly as his arms were, he needed two arms to even carry it — but it was free, so putting on his best smile, he thanked the man and walked away. It took two steps before someone was calling his name.

"Mr. Postman!" A Krum shouted from across the street. "Would you like some jam? It's free!"

"Two free things? Well, don't mind if I do."

By the time Jesper arrived home, he had a pile of discounted goods that near doubled his height. At first, he thought the sales were another act of warfare, the citizens of Smeerensburg in a fierce competition to win over the new postman. He could've worked with that. A few sneaky words, a neutral expression — he could've had everyone eating out of his hands.

But no, they weren't trying to win him over. As sad as it was, they were being _nice_. He saw one Ellingboe talking to a Krum with open friendliness, a few red-headed kids helping two dark-haired old ladies cross the street, the grouchy old man with the dogs and bear trap-littered yard had built a playground while _smiling_. Jesper shuddered. The whole town had gone mad.

Better for him, he supposed. In fact, everything was coming up aces for him. He had food to last a fortnight, he was halfway to his goal, even the frigid winds were inconsequential with the new thick blankets he'd gotten.

Then the first petal fell.

.

Oh. There were kids. They looked misplaced in the school, fish hanging over their heads, little faces bunched shoulder to shoulder in the front row seats. He should've expected the kids; he was the one who sent them here in the first place, but it still smelled wrong. Get it? 'Cause of the…

Jesper coughed. "Sorry, is this a bad time?"

The kid standing at the board waved; his chubby face split into a smile. Alva wasn't as welcoming. "What are you doing here?"

Yes, what was he doing here? He eyed the knives sticking out of the globe on the desk. Was that safe? "Well, I had this question, and I didn't know who to ask it to, but then I remembered that there's a school with a teacher and teachers answer questions, so…" He raised his shoulders in a half-shrug and spread his arms to signify his conclusion.

"What's your question then?"

"My question?" Her glare threatened him to hurry. "Right. It's kind of dumb now that I think about it."

"As a teacher, I'm obligated to say there are no stupid questions. Ask away."

Okay. He could do that. He inhaled. On his exhale, he asked, "So hypothetically if there's a part of a plant: fruit, leaves, stem, flower, some plant thing — and someone consumes it — again, hypothetical; is there the slightest, or any chance at all really, that it will grow inside them?"

Her lips thinned, and she gave him a side-eye that screamed, "That is the stupidest question I've ever heard." Jesper nodded and backed away while the children giggled. At him. "Yeah, okay. I think I got my answer. Bye now."

.

That answered nothing. If it wasn't something he ate, then how did it get inside of him? How was it getting worse? He pressed his palm against his throat. He could trace its climbed upwards; as it reached the bottom of his Adam's apple; as it passed his chin. He coughed into his palm and it landed, drenched in his own spit: three small purple petals.

.

The carriage was in ruins. The wheels had popped off, the footrest had splintered beneath their feet, and the reindeer had wandered elsewhere. It was a miracle they were still alive.

"Well, now what?" Jesper spat. He knew that peace on earth stuff was phony. '_Here, Mr. Postman, have some food.' 'Here, Mr. Postman, we have a sale on some new wool clothes.' 'Here, Mr. Postman, have a stinky fish._' It was just a ploy to lower his guard so they could murder him — and for what? He was only doing his job here, people!

He had to get out of this town before it killed him.

Klaus lumbered past him, his barrel arms carrying the trunk full of presents. Jesper watched him with interest before following. "Oh, are you going to help me deliver these toys for once? We can split the workload. I'll even give you the easy houses."

"Nope," Klaus said as he lowered the chest right next to the battle bell. "I'm going to fix the carriage and gather the reindeer. You're going to deliver the toys. I put them in the middle so they'll be easier to get to."

"Do you expect me to — " Jesper gaped. "We crashed hundreds of feet — " His hands flew around, trying to mime the distance, the inefficiency of going back and forth from house to chest to house. "It will take me double the time — "

Klaus patted him on the shoulder. "Better get to it then."

.

There was no sign of Klaus after Jesper finished. He wandered the main street, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted. "Klaus? Scary Mr. Woodsman? Oh, the mysterious and awesome Mr. Klaus, wherefore art thou?"

A dog barked behind iron-wrought gates. Jesper jumped and sped through the streets. "Klaus?"

He stopped short as the post office came to view. The glow of the wood furnace was visible through the window and the reindeer stood outside, all five accounted for and tied to his porch. He sighed, his warm breath creating pockets of hot air in the chill. The deliveries had run long. Not as time-consuming as when this first started: with steel bear traps and burning hot coals, but still _long_.

"I thought you were fixing the carriage?" Jesper asked. He had opened the door to find Klaus putting a tarp over one of the broken windows — and not one of those ill-fitted tarps that had covered the holes in the wall before. This one had no gaps. Massive improvement.

"Even with lantern light, it's gotten too dark to spot where the wheels went. Best to try to collect them in the morning."

"So you're inviting yourself over?"

"Well, I — "

Jesper laughed at the brief flash of uncertainty that crossed Klaus' face. "I'm joking. You can stay over, but I'm sorry to say I don't have much room."

"That's fine," Klaus stated as he walked away from the now-fixed window. His head was a scant few inches from brushing the roof and he'd have to squeeze those large shoulders inward if he ever wanted to get behind the counter. "Sorry, I should've asked before I started messing with things but I thought your house could use some work -" Klaus' cheeks reddened. "Not that I think it's bad or in need or repair. It's quaint and-"

"Ah, yes. The shoe-box hovel that should've been torn down a long time ago. Quaint." Jesper shook his head. "You don't have to sugar coat it. I'm aware this place is a dump.

"That's not true. I'm sure with a bit of work it can hold up. Do you have some wood around here?"

"Wait. Work? _Here_? _Now_?"

Klaus nodded, the absolute monster, and Jesper closed his eyes. On the one hand: bed. Nice sweet bed and sleep. It had been a long night and he'd grown indifferent to the creaking of the house and the breeze that seeped under his blankets. It wasn't like he was even planning on staying long. 6,000 letters and he could kiss Smeerensburg goodbye. He could endure it until then ... but the chill _was_ miserable and winter wasn't even half over.

And hey, who was he to reject free repairs?

.

"Do they have names?"

"Huh?"

Jesper had resigned himself to a quiet night spent holding wooden boards in place and fetching tools he didn't even know he owned, but surprises came in many forms.

Klaus gestured to the cubbyholes. "The hens. Do they have names?"

"Really? I try to talk to you for days — no, _weeks_; about the weather, town politics, the kids — and the _first_ conversation you start ... is to ask about the chickens?"

Klaus said nothing — which was normal — but his head ducked the tiniest bit as he grabbed the next nail. Huh. He could work with this.

"I named the one in the middle Burghard. The left one is Drill Sergeant. The third one is Mathias. Hey, you think we should name the reindeer?"

Klaus blinked at the sudden subject change. "Name them what?"

"I don't know, what's a good reindeer name?"

Board nailed. Klaus moved onto the next hole in the wall. "If we name them, it should be something majestic-"

"I got it! Prancer!"

"You think Prancer is a majestic name?"

"Absolutely! The reindeer prance. Therefore: Prancer!"

A knot of anticipation curled itself around Jesper's chest. He leaned forward, ready to hear a laugh or a chicken or even a snort, but there was only a hint of a smile before Klaus was giving him another board to hold steady.

"Are we naming them all Prancer then?"

"Yeah, Prancer 1, Prancer 2, Prancer 3, Prancer 4…"

"And Prancer 5?"

"No, too predictable. The last one is Burghard 2."

A huff of breath escaped Klaus' mouth, nowhere near what he was hoping for. Jesper felt cheated.

The rest of the night Klaus gave instructions and Jesper followed. They'd ended up covering the hole in the roof, putting proper tarps over the broken windows, and even removing the branch over his bed. He had to hurry and cover his chalk mural with a sheet but besides that, there were no problems. And it wasn't that horrible of an experience, either. When they were talking, he tried all his best jokes to get Klaus laughing. If Klaus noticed what he was up to, he didn't say anything, but also didn't laugh. When they weren't talking, instead of his mind obsessing on the stretch of silence and how to fill it, he focused on the objects they were fixing; and then the way Klaus' hands gripped his instrument of choice: sure and steady.

Klaus had big hands. They were thick with calluses and strong enough to cleave a log in half. A large contrast to Jesper's hands. Jesper with his smooth skin and long, skinny fingers. He'd gotten a few scratches since this whole toy delivery business got started but they paled compared to the long scars curving Klaus' palms. Watching Klaus and the way he worked around the tools made Jesper wonder. Will he ever have hands as experienced as Klaus? Or had that boat already sailed? For a moment he imagined himself having those same rough hands, the same ease with tools, the ability to learn and to build and to create…

It must've been the drowsiness messing with his head. Him? Working? With big, meaty blubber hands? He'd save that for the working class. No, thank you, ma'am.

.

When Jesper awoke, it was to something blocking his throat. He gasped for air, hands scrabbling at his neck as he flipped to his side. He kicked off his blankets. Fresh air. He needed-

He tripped but caught himself on the frame. The door swung open with a twist of his hand and soon he was on his knees. The crisp morning air hit his cheeks and saliva pooled in his cheeks. He opened his mouth in time for the petals to fall: a few of those purples ones, and on top, something large, yellow and curved. He only had a moment to wonder what hell escaped his mouth before the wind flew by, taking the petals with it.

He shivered and started counting his breaths. 1, 2, — he almost suffocated — 3, 4, — he hated flowers — 5, 6, "What's happening to me?" He asked. There was no answer. He stood and turned only for his feet to snag on something. Blankets. That's right. Klaus had stayed over. Had slept in the corner.

And now he had disappeared. The bedroom was empty. He squinted passed Gangplank of Doom but the outhouse was vacant. Jesper shut the door and ventured downstairs, passed the still-covered chalk mural, but it was empty save for Burghard, Drill Sergeant, and Mathias.

"Klaus?"

.

"You fixed it."

"I fixed it to a point." Klaus stated. He was settled inside the half-fixed carriage with the reindeer attached. It was odd, seeing him in the early morning light with the reindeer digging their hooves in the snow. "It'll hold us but it'll need further repairs to hold both us and the presents."

Jesper stepped away from the porch and up to the wagon. As he got closer, he realized Klaus held something in his hand; pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "What'cha got there?" He asked as he drew near.

His breath caught in his throat as he leaned over and realized —

"Lilac petals," Klaus answered. His large thumb dwarfed the petal as he rubbed it back and forth. "I found them on the ground outside. They usually aren't in bloom at this time of year. Too cold out."

Jesper's throat closed around a phantom intruder. He tipped his head back and breathed in through his nose. Out through his mouth. Klaus opened his fingers, and they watched as they flew away.

"Come on, it's getting light out. We should get going." Every word, every question that had lodged in his throat since this morning fell away as Klaus took up the reigns.

"Whoa, what's the rush?"

"Don't you have a job? The faster you drop me off at the workshop, the faster you can return to work."

"Yeah, but I could serve you breakfast. That's what a good host does, right? Come on, don't make me a bad host. Oh, and the kids! They'll be by soon enough. I bet if you stick around to say hi, they'll send more letters." He nudged the man's elbow with a grin, but instead of the quiet contemplation he expected, Klaus stiffened and his face fell flat.

"Let's go." Klaus commanded, grabbing the reins.

"But — But breakfast!"

"I'll make you something at my place."

.

It wasn't until he was standing on the front doorstep that he realized he'd never been inside Klaus' home. He'd been inside the workshop, helped carry out toys nightly, but the actual house had remained under firm lock and key. As Klaus unlocked the door, he braced himself for the worst; bear carpets, mismatching furniture, a deer head mounted over the mantle, _dogs_. He shuddered. _Please_, he prayed, _please, let there be no dogs._

The door swung open.

"Wow, this is a nice house you got here." Better than his place by a long shot. The roof had to be over twice his height and the rug by the entryway had an intricate design that reminded him of the rugs back home. Similar to the workshop, every piece of furniture expertly wood-crafted and had a layer of dust to it. He followed Klaus past a family room — two wicker chairs placed near the fireplace but otherwise barren — before entering the kitchen.

"Sit," Klaus commanded as he turned on the stove. Jesper sat, his eyes taking the cobwebs in the window's corner, the chipped paint covering half the cabinets, before focusing on the table and the open letters laid across its surface. He picked up one without thought.

_Dear Mr. Klaus,_

_Hello, it's me again. I've been a good girl lately. This morning I helped an old lady cross the street and after I helped do the laundry and walked my neighbor's dog. Please, can I have a toy?_

_Anne Lisse._

Jesper lowered the letter and observed the small piles. There had to be a couple hundred of them. He shifted through them and found that the letters split into two stacks. Drawings on the left. Letters on the right. Each of the stacks were broken down further by sender. "You read these?"

"Of course," Klaus filled a pot with water. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, you don't hand me letters to send back so I assumed you never opened them."

"I read them," Klaus stated simply. It boggled Jasper's mind. He read them. All 3,000+ of them? Letters swamped the table but nowhere near the thousands. He must keep them elsewhere. He opened his mouth to ask, but a sudden bowl of oatmeal stopped him in his tracks. His night job always did stir an appetite come morning.

.

After a heated debate on whether they should have more than one wagon between them — in which Klaus shook his head and Jesper whined and pleaded and weaponized his best puppy dog eyes — he was ready to return to the office and greet the little gremlins no doubt lining up his front door. He settled into his seat while Klaus patted the lone horse with his large hands. "Remember, carry nothing weighing over two people or else it'll break down. Come back early, and I should have it fixed by nightfall."

Jesper nodded. He wanted to ask how early he should return but what escaped his mouth was: "Why don't you want the kids to see you? I mean, it's about them, isn't it? They _want_ to meet you."

Klaus gave him a look, as indecipherable as the postman training manual he'd thrown away at basic, and then slapped the horse's flank. Jesper had to scrabble not to drop the reigns as the wagon rushed forward. "Hey!" He yelled. "Not funny!" He turned to shoot Klaus a glare but Klaus was already heading back inside, his solitary figure becoming smaller and smaller until he disappeared in a blanket of white.

.

"Mr. Postman?"

"Yes, little boy?" He asked. He was prepared for whatever decided to leave this kid's mouth after this morning's debacle. Flying magical reindeer. Will wonders ever cease?

"Yesterday, you came to the school and asked if people can grow plants inside them. After you left, everyone started calling you a dummy."

Ah. He recognized him now. The little boy who stood next to the board. He heaved a sigh. "Let me guess, you're here to call me a dummy too." Oh, the irony.

The boy shook his head. "No, I'm here to say I believe you! Plants can grow in people because I read about it!"

Correction. He was _not_ ready for whatever decided to leave this kid's mouth. He leaned over the counter. "Read about it?"

"Uh-huh. Want me to show you the book?"

He swallowed and though his breathing came easy, he could still taste the petals on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth. He stepped out from behind the counter. "Lead the way."

.

The kid dragged him to a treehouse. A small treehouse, filled with toys and knick-knacks and other kid things. Jesper sat criss-cross applesauce and watched as the boy flitted to and fro for his book.

"Over here?" He asked as he lifted a dirty blanket. "No."

"Over here?" He asked as he dragged a box off a shelf. The box fell to the floor and chalk dust clouded the air, broken sticks of chalk littering the floor. "No."

"Look, kid — "

The boy upended a basket filled with fist-sized rocks and a slingshot, before letting out a triumphant 'aha!' as he pulled a book from the bottom. It was a thin, red, hard-covered book with an illustration that once must've caused someone painstaking misery to create, but now had faded to illegibility. Great. A children's book. He had been hoping for something more scientific. The boy flipped through it with decisiveness, landing on a page in the middle.

"Here, you read it." He shoved the book into his lap and settled next to Jesper's side with an eager smile. Jesper scanned the page. Before the title was a giant red heart, detailed in its anatomical rendering with a small plant growing out of it. How pleasant. He read the title aloud.

"_The Giant Who Had No Heart."_

"_There was once a king with seven sons. Six went off to find brides but the king kept the youngest near his side because he could not bear to part from them all. The brothers were to find a seventh bride for the prince left behind, but they found a king with six daughters and wooed them, forgetting their youngest brother. However, upon returning to their home, they passed too close to a giant's castle, and he turned them into stone in a fit of rage."_

The little boy shifted close, his mouth moving along as Jesper read; his eyes tracing their place on the page. Jesper began reading slower, placing his pointer finger under the words as he read.

"_When they did not return, the prince tracked them down against his father's wishes. Along the way, he met a hungry raven which he fed, a landlocked salmon which he returned to the river, and a starving wolf who he gave his horse to. The wolf, thankful for his kindness, showed him the way to the giant's castle. The prince was reluctant to enter, fearing the wrath of the giant. However, it wasn't the giant he found inside, but a princess from a faraway land. He asked her if she knew a means to kill this giant and set his family free but she told him there was no way. The giant did not keep his heart in his body and thus could not be killed._

_But the prince had to try and the princess agreed to help him however she could. When the giant came to her room, the princess hid the prince under her bed and asked where the giant kept his heart. He told her it was under the doorsill. The prince and princess dug there the next day but found no heart. To cover their tracks, she placed flowers over the doorsill and when asked; she told the giant it was to show her appreciation._

"_Silly princess," said the giant, "my heart isn't under the doorsill. It is in the cupboard."_

_The next day while the giant had ventured deep into the woods, they searched the cupboards but could not find the heart. To cover their tracks, the princess laid flowers and garlands inside the cupboard and when the time came for the giant's return, again, he asked why there were flowers. Again, the princess answered, "I'm so fond of you, I couldn't help spreading flowers there, knowing it's where your heart lay."_

_Finally, the giant admitted. "There is no heart. I lost it a long time ago." And then left the princess' room._

_Distraught, the prince and princess asked the wolf what they must do. The wolf answered, "If the giant has lost his heart, then you must make him a new one. A giant heart for his giant body that which he must swallow to have it connect with his life force. Once the heart settles inside, then he will be killable. Then you can free yourselves and your family._

_The prince and princess carved out parts of their hearts but that alone was not enough. The prince sneaked out into the woods and asked the salmon, the wolf, and the crow for parts of theirs and they said, "We will do you one better," and soon all the birds and fishes and woodland creatures were handing over bits and pieces until he had enough for a giant's heart._

"_And here is some sap," the crow told, perched on a leaking tree, "to put it all together."_

_Soon the prince had a heart that beat and pulsed. He gave it to the princess who prepared the giant's dinner, covering the heart with greens and flowers so he could not know what he consumed until it was too late. Soon the giant would have a heart. Soon he would be killable._

"_But what if he grows to love?" Asked the princess. "If he has a heart, and he loves, should we still kill him?"_

"_We will have to see. If he grows to love then_ _we will spare him, but if he does not, then he must die."_

_The plan went off without trouble. The princess watched as the heart, covered in greens and leaves and berries and fruits, was swallowed in one gulp. Days passed and the giant showed no change. The prince began to grow anxious. "We must kill him," He said to the princess, "before it is too late."_

"_Wait," she pleaded, "let me try peace first." The prince was reluctant, but the princess insisted, and when the giant next came to her room, she asked him. "The stone men and women in the front yard, can't you reverse their condition and bring them back to life?"_

"_Why should I?" asked the giant. "They were trespassing. No, they shall remain that way forevermore."_

"_Oh, but isn't that cruel?" asked the princess. "They have paid for their crimes already. Release them or else you will be known as cruel and unjust and evil in the eyes of man."_

_The giant said nothing and left her room. The next morning, the prince rejoiced. "He's freed them! He's freed them! I can return now, and you with me. I can show you my father and they can wed us with my brothers."_

_But the princess shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I refuse. I must see this to the end. You may have created this heart, but I was the one who fed it to him. This instance of mercy might have been nothing more than a fluke. If so, run while you still can. I will stay behind and kill the giant if necessary."_

_The prince protested, but the princess insisted; and so he left the castle with the other princes and princesses in the dead of night. Before he left, he gifted the princess with the eldest brother's blade. She hid it under the bed and when the next morning arose, she acted as if nothing had happened while keeping a close eye on the giant. He was kinder. He moved her to a bigger room, one without locks on the door or bars on her window, and told her she could leave and return to the castle as she pleased. In the mornings, they picked berries and made jam. In the evenings, they shared dinner and she taught the giant how to cook._

_But then, as sudden as his pleasant demeanor had appeared, he, himself, began disappearing. Once, she would've delighted at the prospect, but soon she found she missed his company. A week passed since his abrupt aloofness, and she confronted him_.

"_Every time I see you, flowers fall from my mouth." Even as he spoke, a waterfall of flowers cascaded from his lips: dwarf sunflowers, pansies, scarlet lilies, and agrimonies. "It is starting to hurt."_

_._

Jesper paused in his storytelling as a tickle started high in his throat. He swallowed whatever petals were working its way up and continued the story in halting syllables.

.

_The princess accepted his answer and returned to her room, where the crow sat perched at her window. "Tell me, old crow, what ails the giant so?"_

"_The greens you used to disguise his heart and the sap meant to unite the pieces have merged. A plant grows in his heart, stiffening his limbs and slowing its beat. His feelings are affecting its growth and creating flowers. The flowers symbolize his feelings. The sunflowers are his adoration for you, the pansies signify how you occupy his thoughts day and night, the scarlet lilies __are_ _you; your elevated status and soul, and the agrimonies are the thankfulness he's felt for having known you. Simply put: he is in love with you, my dear princess."_

"_In love? Then, if his feelings are affecting it, will it stop if I reject him?"_

"_Should you reject him, the flowers will grow and thicken until he becomes a sturdy tree among this high-hill castle. If you accept him, the feelings will resolve and the flowers will stop and he will breathe easy once more, but only if you love him as he does you."_

_She pondered the crow's words. Did she want to reject the giant? Could she love him? She didn't know. She had never any reason to give it thought._

"_Beware, princess, if you do nothing, you will be condemning the giant to a slow and painful death — for as you hem and haw, his feelings will grow and grow until he can breathe no more and he will become a tree, regardless." And with those parting words, the crow spread his wings and flew away._

_The next few days the princess spent her energy into thinking it over. The giant had changed since he first captured her and placed her in this castle so long ago — his voice was kinder, his motions gentler — but still she could not be sure. A week passed and still she had no answer._

_Then the giant began raining flowers over her._

"_Why do you shower me with the blossoms that grow inside you?" She asked._

"_Is that not what one does with flowers and the people they're fond of? It was you who taught me this." It was then as she stared at the proof laid at her feet that she found herself capable of nothing less than reciprocation. "I love you," she told the giant. The moment the words left her mouth, the flowers stopped, and the giant breathed easy, knowing his princess returned his love._

_And they lived happily ever after._

.

"Well, that was a waste of time," Jesper stated, staring at the large, _The End_. Illustrated under it was the giant next to the princess, a massive bouquet held between them. In the bouquet were a few flowers he could recognize from the estate's gardens, but their names eluded him. He recognized the sunflower, at least.

"It was?" The little boy asked. His lower lip was sticking out, and it wobbled as if —

"No! It wasn't — It was — It was a wonderful story. Real nice. I loved the happy ending, very," he struggled for a second, "_happy_. Thank you for showing me the book. I have to go now." He gingerly got to his feet, careful not to whack the kid with one of his pointy joints in the cramped space, and hastily made his way towards the ladder.

The boy stared up at him with those wide orbs before the edges crinkled into a smile. "I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Postman! You can come back to the treehouse anytime!"

"Yup. Love it. Thanks. I'll be going then." He descended the ladder, and it wasn't until he was standing at the bottom that he let his smile drop. Such a waste of time. Even putting the illogical things aside, the talking animals and the man-made heart, there was no way he'd fallen in _love_. Correction: There was no way he'd fallen in love with someone from _Smeerensburg._

.

But what if he _had _fallen in love? The possibilities haunted him, and the question begged; if the flowers meant love — if he was _in love_ — then with whom? An Ellingboe? A Krum? He had no experience to fall back on to tell the difference between In Love and Not; and he tried to recall the first time the petals had fallen. Had he been talking to his 'love' then? Then he remembered this morning; waking up with them stuffed down his throat. Lilacs. What did they mean?

"Jesper, you're being ridiculous." He told himself as he paced the length of the post office. "It's a children's story. There is no way you're in love with someone in _Smeerensburg_, and you will not turn into a tree. It's nothing but wive's tales and folklore. If anything, Klaus would be the giant in this story. If anyone needs to learn how to love, it's him."

Drill Sergeant clucked at him.

Jesper froze. "You're right! I can use this to my advantage. If I write dad and tell him I've come down with this rare unknown disease — it's not like I'm lying." He grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil and sat at his desk. "It should sound like I'm dying or else he'll never," he paused in thought, "but if I make it _too _heart-wrenching, he'll think I'm making it up. Serious. I have to be serious."

He drummed the tip of the pencil against his bottom lip as he thought. Should he start the letter with 'Dear Dad', or something more formal like 'Dear father'? Dad was always trying to teach Jesper 'propriety'.

A series of knocks broke him from his concentration. The window creaked open and Mogens leaned in as if the door two feet to his left was nothing more than an inconvenience. "It's the end of the week which means time for the outgoing mail." He drummed his knuckles against the sill and smiled. "Hand 'em to me."

"Can't it wait? I'm busy."

"Oh sure, I'll just wait here until you're done. Don't mind me."

Jesper put pencil to paper. 'Dear father,'—

"99 bottles of rum on the wall, 99 bottles of rum, take one down, pass it around-"

Jesper slammed his pencil down and rose to his feet. "I'll go get the bags."

.

"You know, this is your fault," Mogens stated, elbow resting on a dock pillar and a flask in hand. "If you weren't so good at your job, I wouldn't have to ask you to help me carry the mail on the boat. Bad back and all that."

Jesper grumbled as he lifted his knee and readjusted his grip on the bag. He dropped the mail with a loud thud and began his ride back to the post office. Usually, they'd use Jesper's carriage to deliver the mail to the docks but the moment he'd placed over five bags, the wheels gave an ominous creak and the axle started to bend — and of course the lazy ferryman didn't bother helping unload over one bag a trip.

"Oh, what's with the long face?" Mogens asked as Jesper passed him by with the last sack. He capped his flask and sidled up next to the postman, throwing an arm around his shoulders, "Look here." He said, gesturing to the boat in front of him. "Look at that."

Jesper sighed. The boat was as small and dingy as the last time he laid eyes on it, rusted with ice and sea barnacles clinging to its side. "And what am I supposed to be seeing here?"

"See all that mail? Before you came here, that boat would've been as empty as a bird's nest in December and now look at it. It's full to bursting and that — " He patted Jesper's chest, "— that's because of you, my friend."

Jesper inspected the boat and the bags full of letters. He was right. There had to be at least a dozen of them where Jesper had once struggled to fill one. The sight of it caused something warm to flutter in his chest and he coughed to cover the smile growing on his face.

Imagine his abject horror when petals landed on top of his closed first: a round, pointed crimson petal. No. He couldn't — not with the boatman! He was dirty and had a potbelly and reeked of sea salt and fish and alcohol and had a grin like a stinkier version of the Cheshire cat. Nope. No. Never Nuh-uh —

"Something wrong?" Mogens asked. Jesper ducked out from under the man's arms and shook the petals from his hand.

_Yes, there's something wrong, _he wanted to shout. Instead, what he blurted out was: "How do you know when you love someone?"

"What?" The smug grin fell from Mogen's face, replaced with one of utter befuddlement. It was a good look, and Jesper would've enjoyed it more had his world not been crashing in a ball of flames.

"You heard me. How do you know when you love someone? Earlier, when Alva was yelling at me, you said something about 'palpitations of the heart' and 'intense looks'. Is that it? Is that love?"

"Are you all right, Postman? Need a doctor?"

Jesper perked up. "This town has a doctor?"

Mogens laughed. No, not just laughed; he howled and roared and at one point slapped his knee then wiped away a tear and devolved into snorts. "A month ago we didn't even have a real school and you think this place has a doctor? No, we've got midwives and a few herbalists, but if you want a real doctor, you'll have to ride with me to the mainland."

Great. Like he had time for that. "No thanks." He said. He spun on his heel, ready to head back home and fall into bed for a nap until sundown and forget this whole thing—

"There are a lot of different loves: familial, platonic, romantic. There's probably more; not like I keep a list of them." Jesper turned around. Mogens was leaned against the dock pillar, his eyes gazing into something far away. "Like I said, you can tell you're in love by how hard your heart beats in your chest; the intense looks you give each other. You think more about what you wear and what you say and all the little things you never cared about before. Your palms sweat when they're nearby and when they're gone…"

A heady silence ballooned between them. Jesper was afraid to pop it.

"Have you ever —? "

Mogens' smile turned sharp and the balloon was gone. He pushed off the pillar and tugged his cap so it hung over his eyes. "The sun's getting low. I better get going. You better skedaddle too or else you'll be late breaking into people's houses."

"I'm not — I don't break into people's houses! Who would break into people's houses? Not me, because that's — that's illegal and I don't — "

"Puh-lease," Mogens barked out a half-strangled laugh, "save it for someone who'll fall for it."

.

Jesper yawned as he leaned against the carriage. Klaus shot him an inquisitive look from his position by the carriage's footrest but resumed fixing the wobbly axle without a word. Jesper's mind was still running over what he learned since this morning and it needed to stop for his sanity. He needed a blank mind. He needed a distraction. And what better distraction was there than noise?

"Hey, Klaus, let me tell you what I heard from the kids this morning."

.

Jesper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. On the floor sat a bunch of tiny wet petals soaked in a gob of spit. He took his time breathing — in and out — rubbing his throat as he did. This was getting out of control. It was a wonder Klaus didn't barge in asking about the noise.

Klaus.

If he could tell flowers apart by their petals, then maybe Jesper could ask him what he knew on the ride over to town. He placed his hands on the doorknobs and —

Thoughts of love and petals and beating hearts vanished as he noticed the toys — or the lack thereof.

.

Christmas was his only hope left. The letter home was too risky, he'd decided, not without a backup plan. His dad had become jaded from his lies, cheats, and bribes, but if he could convince Klaus and then later send it… The wood furnace in the room's corner illuminated the stiff whiteboard in front of him. He had to —

_In. Out. In. Out_. Jesper measured his breaths as a familiar sensation started at the base of his throat. Ever since he got home, he was choking up something. _In. Out._ He was starting to get desensitized to the whole process. _Breathe through the nose_. He didn't have time for this. If only he could kill them somehow... He closed his eyes and tipped his forward to provide a better path for the petals. In the story, the giant's heart flowered because he was falling in love. Flowers need water and sunlight to grow. They needed —

"That's it!" He shouted. "Flowers need warmth, right? Warmth and sunlight. Love is 'warm'. If I don't have warm feelings — if I have _cold _feelings from now on — then I should be fine." He cast his eyes to the wood furnace chugging along in the corner.

"But if I take it a step further — "

He put out the fire, and as the embers died and the chill seeped into the office, he found his breath coming easier; the lump sitting at the bottom of his throat disappeared. He grinned and rolled up his sleeves.

"Back to the drawing board."

The earlier petals he coughed up lay on the floor; forgotten; round, pink, and dotted with red.

.

Jesper ran through a checklist in his head as he walked away from Klaus' workshop.

Convince Klaus to make toys for Christmas? Failed.

Deliver 6,000 letters? Failed.

Cold feelings? Mission accomplished. This had to be the coldest he'd ever felt since coming to Smeerensburg.

.

Jesper squinted at the words on the paper. "Margoo? Margew? Marge - Margini - Maarg-"

"Márgu." Alva enunciated.

"Right, is that — what does that mean? Is that 'thank you' or 'hello' or something?"

"No," Alva said in a tone that declared she was near the end of her patience. "That's her name."

"Oh." Jesper jumped in his seat. "Oh!" He shifted so he was facing the little girl and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Márgu. I'm Jesper."

"Jesper!" Márgu giggled as they shook hands and he smiled before cursing himself.

Warm feelings are bad, he reminded himself. They are dangerous. He turned his head to the side and coughed, trying to swallow whatever was attempting to worm their way up his throat.

"You okay there, Jesper? You've been coughing a lot."

"I'm fine." He said, waving his hand as if he could wave away the worry stamping Alva's brow. "Sore throat."

"Here, I'll warm us some drinks."

"No!"

They were staring at him, their eyes wide and mouth agape. Jesper retracted his arm and gave a nervous chuckle. "I'll take something cold, please. I find freezing drinks are better for my throat. Ice cold. I wanted to put that out there because I didn't want — I guess I could've waited for my drink to cool down but that takes so much time and… Yeah."

"Okay then." Alva said with this very specific look on her face. "A cold drink for you and warm drinks for the sane people in the house, coming right up."

.

"I'm kind of jealous."

Jesper paused as he placed their empty cups into the sink, neck swiveling left and right for a person hiding in the shadows. Márgu had left a while ago, her words so fast and jumbled that even Alva had trouble deciphering her goodbye.

Alva rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm talking to you. Don't let it get to your head."

"Jealous? Of me? I'm just a postman-"

"Try again. I hear the kids talk between lessons. Sure, they gossip about Klaus, the flying reindeer, the toys they get, the cookies and milk gone in the night; but I think we both know who the real mastermind behind the curtain is."

"We do?"

Instead of answering, Alva placed her arms on the table and laid her chin on top. "What's it like?" She asked.

Matching her low tone, Jesper replied, "What's what like?"

She shrugged, looking up at him. Her face glowed under the candlelight and something in her eyes, in the way she nestled inward, made her seem younger; like the girl in the photograph holding her diploma. "The toys, the workshop, the breaking and entering; share everything. Tell me how the magic happens."

"First things first, the magical flying reindeer is a lie. I'm sorry to break your heart."

"Oh, how will I live?" She bemoaned. Jesper bit his lip and prepared himself another piping cold cup of water to stem the warmth in his chest. "What else can you tell me?"

"The breaking and entering isn't glamorous either. There are angry dogs and hot coals and booby traps. Nasty work." He took a sip of his drink. "The workshop…"

As if sensing the troubled thoughts brewing in his head, Alva rose to meet him. She placed her hands on his arm. "Hey, did something happen?"

"It was my fault. I went into Klaus' workshop and started messing with his stuff — I was trying to… It doesn't matter what I was trying to do, but he got mad and I don't even know if — if we're still doing this-"

"Whoa, hey. Did you apologize yet?"

Jesper's nose scrunched up. There was a nasty taste on his mouth. It was like… fish. Slimy, gross, burnt fish. "Apologize?"

"Yeah. The thing you do when you mess up and you want to convey how sorry you are?" She grabbed his chin and squeezed his cheeks so it mimicked her words. "_Hello Klaus, it's me,_" she said, voice pitched low, "_the postman shaped like a twig. I'm sorry for invading your privacy. I promise I'll never do it again."_

He slapped her hands away and they shared a laugh. "All right, I get it. I'll apologize. Eventually."

She placed her hand on her hips. "You better do it soon. Márgu will expect that iceboat in the next few days and if she doesn't get it — "

"It'll crush her." Jesper finished. "But what if Klaus rejects my apology? What if it's -?" A lump formed in his throat. He took a large gulp of his drink, willing himself to work past the cold. The lump didn't lessen. "What if it's over?"

"Then we'd have spent the past few hours helping Márgu write that letter for nothing."

_No,_ Jesper thought, sudden and fierce in its intensity_. Even if Klaus won't make any toys, it doesn't mean I can't._

.

"I'm sorry." The wood planar stopped in its tracks. Jesper forced himself to focus on his own work, but it was hard with Klaus staring at him. "I should've never been inside your workshop. I shouldn't have snooped around. I — I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I forgive you."

It wasn't until Klaus resumed smoothing the wood that Jesper realized how tense his shoulders had been. He loosened up with a smile and continued working.

.

Warm feelings were bad. Warmth meant growth. Warmth meant flowers. Flowers meant choking hazards. Right then, as he was feeding the reindeer and babbling, Jesper much didn't care for fearing warmth. He was too busy basking in it.

"You know," Klaus said, warmth intertwined with every word, "I remember the first day I had that very same smile on my face."

.

In a way, he had already learned the story. He learned it the moment he saw that carved tree — the two wicker chairs set by the fireplace — but the fondness in Klaus' voice enraptured him, along with the bittersweet sadness dancing in his blue eyes. Jesper watched as Klaus traced the pillars of his home, as he cradled a small toy in his large hands as if he could reach back in time to the day he made it, the hopes and dreams of the past still nestled in the grains — and between one breath and the next, in the space between burning hope and abrupt quiet tragedy, he came upon a horrible realization.

He was in love… in love with Klaus.

"But then… then you showed up."

Jesper stepped back as Klaus' attention focused on him.

"I'm sorry." He blurted out. "I — if it weren't for — I forced you to give those toys away. If I realized how much they —" Jesper blinked the tears from his eyes. "You're giving away your memories."

"No," Klaus said in that firm but gentle way of his, "I'm making new ones. You asked me once why I didn't want to see the kids if I was doing it for them. I'll be honest, I don't know if I was doing it for them, so much as doing it because that's what she would have wanted. But now, delivering these toys, seeing the joy they bring to children; I thought I'd never feel this again. And I have you to thank for it, my friend."

A hand landed on his shoulder and Klaus gazed at him with such genuine sincerity that it left him breathless. "So thank you."

A familiar cresting irritation arose and Jesper had to fight to stay still. "Of course." He murmured. Inside, his mind was exploding with shouts. _Don't. Don't you dare cough after he finished telling you of how his wife fell ill_. _Suck it up_.

Jesper gave a weak smile as Klaus rallied behind Christmas, his excited tones bouncing loud in the otherwise quiet forest. "Come on, we need to get started!"

"I'll be right there," Jesper called. He tracked Klaus' retreating form and waited until he heard rummaging before loosening his throat. As fast as this affliction had come, and for as short a time as he had it, Jesper had grown accustomed to throwing up petals. This wasn't petals. This was something bigger, and it was suffocating him. His chest was too small for his body and with every exhale his lungs were striking against his rib cage.

He hurried to the barn, hoping the distance and the noises of reindeer covered his hacking coughs. Spittle flew from his mouth. He got rid of his thick winter coat, grabbed snow, and pressed it to his throat.

"Everything all right, Jesper?" Klaus called.

He opened his mouth wide in a shaky exhale and something slipped past his lips and onto the ground. "Everything's fine." He croaked. "Just checking on the reindeer."

He rested his head against the barn. Below him wasn't three or four loose petals, but a whole flower bud, small and pale pink except for flecks of red. Red flowers. Red snow. Red. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and the front of his teeth.

He tasted copper.

Blood.

He was coughing up blood.

"This won't end well."

.

The letter lay where he left it. Taunting him. '_Dear father,'_. He could send it and hope the trick worked. Except was it a trick when he was hacking up blood and resorting to freezing half to death to get through the day? He picked it up. He put it down. He grabbed a pencil and tried to write more. When no words were forthcoming, he stared at the goal meter. 1,000 letters left.

He exited the post office and went for a walk.

.

Jesper didn't know what he expected when Alva dragged him to the town square. A small celebration? A single tree decked out in light? But this-

"This is…"

"Incredible?" She laughed and like before, between this moment and the next, he knew he was in love. Platonic, familial, romantic, he couldn't tell which one he held for her. Heck, he couldn't tell which one he held for Klaus, but as he stood there — as people greeted him with every step he took, and the world shone; Jesper's thoughts were thus:

He loved this town. He loved these people. He was capable of love and he did so without restraint. There was no leaving Smeerensburg. Not until Christmas was done. He dug this hole and he was going to make it the best hole ever dug. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't tell anyone. If word got back to Klaus that he was suffering, coughing blood and suffocating, in part because of him...

No, best to keep it under lock and key.

.

"Do you want to meet him?" Jesper asked as they strolled through the town square, browsing the stalls and the fancy lights strung from house to house.

"Who?"

"Klaus. We made up thanks to you. If you want, I can take you to his workshop. I mean, I'd have to ask him first, but I bet if I annoy him enough he'll say yes."

Her eyes lit up like a kid after a visit from 'Klaus' and she flattened her skirt and adjusted her shirt as if the woodsman would appear from around the corner any moment now. "Y- yes. I would love to. If you get permission first, that is."

.

"You suck at this," Alva commented with a nudge.

"Hey, no nudging when working with delicate instruments!"

Márgu's father tutted at them. He was trying to teach them how to make simple toys but between the language barrier and Jesper's poor hand-eye coordination, it was an effort in futility. Alva at least had the carving thing mastered. It was the mechanics she struggled with. Jesper could do neither, and eyed Alva's wooden fish with envy.

"What do you guys have here?"

Alva jumped up and produced her toy with a flourish. "I can't make it open and close its mouth like I want to, but what do you think?"

"It's great!" Klaus enthused as he crouched for a better view. "You did well on the scales and the fin is fantastic. Very realistic."

"Well, I _was _a fish merchant for the whole time I've been here. I don't think I'll forget how they smell or look for at least a decade."

"And what about you, Jesper?" Those merry blue eyes slid to him. "What did you make?"

Jesper held out his creation and grimaced. Klaus took it in his hands and nodded in that careful way his nannies used to when they weren't sure what he handed them but didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"It's a nice..."

"Wolf." Alva supplied helpfully.

"Oh? I never would've — I mean, it's a very nice wolf, Jesper."

Márgu's mom patted his cheek as she passed. Jesper pouted.

"I know it's junk," Jesper reached for the toy, "Here, give it to me. I'll throw it out."

"No," Klaus lifted the toy out of Jesper's range. "We're keeping it."

"You'll actually give a kid that?" Alva asked.

"Wow, rude. I'm right here."

Klaus chuckled. "I'm not that cruel. It's not 'give to children' material but," he placed the misshapen wolf to the nearest shelf, "I think it'll make a good memory."

.

"Oh no, no thanks. I'm fine." Jesper said as an old lady pushed knitted clothes to his chest. "I'm fine. I'm warm." He wasn't, but that was the point, wasn't it? If he was cold, the flowers will stop growing. If he was cold, he could breathe easy. That was why he'd forgone his uniform in favor of his thin undershirt and suspenders. Goosebumps crawled along his skin and his fingertips and ears burned, but he had everything under control.

"You should take it." Jesper whipped his head up and up and up. Klaus loomed above him, a morose expression on his face. "You're not dressed right for the weather. It's warm in the workshop but," and here his strong timbre cracked, "you can never be too sure."

And how could he say no to that? He took the knitted sweater, gloves, hat, and socks from her hands and put them on. The moment he tugged the red and blue sweater past his head, the goosebumps went away; every inch of the clothing she presented no doubt designed to insulate — and they were cozy too. He thanked her in Sámi, one of the few phrases he knew, and she nodded her welcome before leaving.

Jesper turned to Klaus. "You happy now?"

"I'm sorry, I just... don't want you to get sick."

"I won't." He made a show of rolling his eyes and patting Klaus on the stomach, hoping to distract Klaus from his erratic breathing; his shifting eyes; his lie. It worked.

Jesper tugged at his new clothes. He'd need to bundle up more if he wanted Klaus not to worry. That was fine. He'd find another way of getting cold.

.

"Is there a reason he's shoveling snow into his face?"

"I stopped asking a long time ago. Something about health reasons? I don't know, he's weird."

"Heh. You can say that again."

Jesper rocked back on his heels, letting the chill settle in his body before shouting, "I can hear you, you know!"

"We know," they said.

"Mogens!" Jesper fell flat on his back as a red and blue blur rocketed out of the carriage. Márgu wrapped her arms around the ferryman's middle and he picked her up as if it was just another day.

"Mogens!" She squealed.

"Heh. Nice to see you too, kid."

"I'm sorry," Jesper asked as he got up, "What's going on here? What is she saying? 'Mogens'? Does that mean like, dirty boatman — "

"It's my name." 'Dirty boatman' deadpanned.

Jesper gasped, "_You have a name_?"

Márgu giggled and began speaking in rapid-fire Sámi and Mogens responded _in Sámi_; His mouth making the foreign sounds with ease.

Jesper's mouth dropped open. "You can — he can — "

He gave Alva a shocked stare, and she shrugged back. "I didn't know he could do that either."

"What are they saying? Translate for me!"

"She's thanking him for something. She's — I don't know, they're talking too fast."

Jesper watched as Mogens talked with Márgu, the sly curve to his lips loosening into something more tender. He set her down and crouched down, his eyes sparkling with interest and mirth. Warmth flared in Jesper's stomach. Sighing in resignation, Jesper squatted and grabbed another fistful of snow.

"I worry about you sometimes," Alva stated. Jesper was too busy chewing to reply.

.

"So let me get this straight," having failed at toy making, Klaus had given them the honorable duty of procurement of materials and supplies, AKA, delivery duty. He hefted the box of paints to the back of the carriage. "You know Sámi?"

"Bits and pieces," Mogens said with a shrug, the box of cogs in his hands jangling with the motion.

"And how do you know Márgu?"

He laughed. "Didn't you ever wonder how a kid living on a remote island got here? I'm one of the few boats that travels between Smeerensburg and her place. Learned some Sámi as part of the trade. A couple months back, I _may _have told her about a man who delivers toys to children if you write him a letter."

Jesper froze. "Wait — you're the one — _you _sent her — ?"

"Postman!" Márgu shouted, grinning ear to ear. "Postman. Letter. Toys!"

"What?" Mogens raised his brows at Jesper's glare, that damn Cheshire grin plastered on his face.

"You couldn't have — _I don't know_ — stayed around and translated what she was saying?"

"Oh, where would the fun in that be? You understood her eventually."

"You know, that could be useful." Both turned to find Alva with a scrutinizing expression on her face. "My Sámi isn't that great and their English is good, but their accents are thick. Maybe you can be our translator."

Márgu loved the idea, clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes. Mogens, not so much.

"Yeah, no thanks. I don't think so. 'm too busy."

Alva snorted. "With _what_?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Mogens," Márgu said, and then a bunch of other words Jesper didn't understand. Whatever she was saying, it was working. With each word out of her mouth his sure-fire stance slumped over, until he gave in with a roll of his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll help you translate from time to time, but don't expect anything more. I've got a job too, you know."

.

"Okay, you don't need to rub it in."

"Aw, is the liddle-widdle postman a bad toy maker?"

"Look, my hands are delicate instruments — "

"Not the only delicate instrument."

Alva and Mogens burst into laughter. Despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck, Jesper couldn't help smiling. Mogens placed his finished raven on the table and smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Not bad, huh?"

Jesper flapped his hand dismissively. "Alva's is better."

"Alva, huh? And what about you? You made one too, didn't you?"

He tried in vain to shush her but Alva was cruel and unjust and enjoyed making fun of him. "His is on the shelf over there."

Mogens whistled, long and low as he lifted his cap for a better look. "That is one ugly looking cow."

"It's a wolf," Alva informed him.

"Even worse."

"Like you can talk! That bird is only a little better looking than mine."

"Yeah, but can yours do this?"

Mogens pulled the string on its back and they watched as the crow flapped its wings and opened its beak, the movement so sudden and lifelike that he almost expected it to take wind and fly. The smug grin on Mogens' face, if possible, became even smugger at their awe. "What's next?" He asked.

Márgu's dad placed three toy soldiers on the table and a few buckets of paint

.

"How d'you get the colors to shine that bright?" Alva asked as she peered over his shoulder.

"How are you keeping your hands steady with that small brush?" Mogens asked. Even with one hand holding his wrist steady, the small brush hovering over the toy soldier's eyes trembled.

"What can I say?" It was Jesper's turn to be smug. "You two must not have the delicate touch necessary for this line of work."

A hearty chuckle arose from behind them. The three of them turned to find Klaus staring at their creations. "Not bad." The woodsman said, "Jesper, your eye for color is amazing."

"Why, thank you," Jesper said with a bow of his head. He dodged Alva's playful slap.

"And Mogens, is the raven yours?"

"Yeah. Wanna see it in action?"

"I would love nothing more."

Mogens pulled the cord and the raven spread its wings and hopped around, as if searching for crumbs. Klaus clapped a hand on the man's shoulders — and for a moment Mogens stiffened; a lost tint to his features — before he relaxed. "Wonderful." Klaus breathed.

"Ah shucks, that's nothing. I once jury-rigged a cargo hold to explode in the Pacific with nothing but some fertilizer and a lighter."

"Did you—"

Mogens snorted before Jesper could finish. "God, you're guillible."

"You know," Klaus mused, before a fight could break out, "between Alva's carving skills, Mogens' mechanical, and Jesper's painting — why, you three might be able to make your own toys."

Mogens, Alva, and Jesper looked between them. Warmth unfurled in Jesper's chest. Clearing his throat, Jesper shrugged his shoulders, "Why not?"

.

"You're doing it wrong."

Jesper paused, leaning back on his haunches. The snow was great for his throat but terrible for his head. He waited for his headache to pass before speaking. "What?"

"You're supposed to only eat freshly fallen snow. That's been on the ground for at least a couple hours."

Something dumb danced on the tip of his tongue, something like, '_I'm already coughing blood; how worse can it get?'_ But thankfully a late brain freeze pulse stopped him in his tracks. Instead, all that escaped his mouth was "Oh."

"Here, catch."

Jesper threw out his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, less wanting to catch, and more not wanting to get hit in the face. He needn't have worried. Whatever-it-was landed a few feet in front of him, its arrival heralded by a soft thump in the snow. He peeked his eyes open.

"Your flask?"

"Stuff some snow in there after it first falls and by the time you get thirsty, it'll be nice and melted. A little safer than eating days-old snow off the ground, don't you think?"

"But…" he fished out the metal container, "it's yours. It's your flask."

"And now it's yours. I don't need it anymore." Mogens must've seen the hesitation on his face, because he rolled his eyes and said, "I can always buy a new one."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't."

.

"What's that?"

Jesper, still smiling, checked over his shoulders. "What's what?"

"That, on your teeth. It's pink."

Jesper's mouth clicked shut. He brought his hands to his mouth. "It's berry juice." He said. "The berries from outside, the one on the bushes, I picked them and ate them and I guess it stained my teeth."

"The holly bushes?" There was a worried furrow to Klaus' brow. Oh no. This was what he was trying to prevent.

"Yes, those. The holly. I ate holly."

"Holly berries are poisonous," Alva informed him.

Abort. Abort. Terrible lie. You can save this.

"Did I say holly? I meant those other berries. The ones in the trees."

"The mistletoe?" She asked.

He nodded his head and smiled at her, but then remembered the blood on his teeth and lifted his hands back to cover his mouth. "Yes, those! Exactly. I ate those."

"Jesper," Klaus cautioned, like a man talking to a cornered animal, "Mistletoes are also poisonous."

Even worse lie. Abort. Abort. "... Huh. Are you sure?"

Alva began steering him to the nearest chair. "I think you need to sit down."

After a lifetime of lying to his father — the broken vases, the galas he's wrecked, the work meant for him which he hired other people to do — he'd have thought he'd mastered the art of lying. He'd have thought wrong. "Jam! It's a jam! A lady gave me free jam, and I thought it was made from holly or mistletoe but it must've been something else. Something non-poisonous!"

He winced at the pitch his voice reached, but after more reassurances and a vow to tell them if he ever felt dizzy or nauseous, he was let off the hook.

.

"Put this on."

"And what is this?"

"A blindfold."

Jesper hesitated for only a second before putting it on. "Okay, so is anyone going to tell me why I have to wear this or — "

Klaus laughed his deep, rich laughter and guided him past the sounds of tinkering, hammering, and snippets of Sámi. Under the blindfold, the light shifted, and he shivered as the wind hit him.

"Here we are." Klaus lifted the blindfold from his eyes. In front of them was the most wondrous thing he'd ever seen: a sleigh, trim gleaming golden in the sunlight, red plush looking seats in the front, a large trunk for the toys in the back. They were etching their names on the back of his seats. Klaus' on the left and his on the right.

"I remembered what you said about efficiency and I thought I could make us something for the occasion. At first, I had designs for a coach, but they insisted that I make it a sleigh."

"It's gorgeous," Jesper stated. He brought out his flask and took a gulp, shivering as ice flooded his veins. "I can't wait to take it for a ride."

.

"Jesper!"

"I see, so this one's me?" Márgu handed him a wooden doll, carved in simple shapes but no less beautiful for it; blue hat, blue triangle body. He smiled as he held it. It had been Alva's idea, and though he had his misgivings at first, Jesper hoped that once Klaus saw the tree, it would give him peace. The same peace Jesper experienced when Klaus entered the room.

Jesper grabbed his flask from the table and took a drink. He waited for the flower to sink as he swallowed past it, but it kept rising and rising and rising. He hunched over the table, vision blurring. Keep it together. Keep it —

"Jesper?"

He stood up and sped through the workshop. The door was already open and he rushed through it — and soon he was thick in the trees, doubled over as something long and purple, coated in copper blood, clawed its way out of his mouth. He coughed, spit mixed with blood drooling from his lips.

"Jesper?" His breath shuddered at the sound of that small voice. Márgu. He hurried to wipe his mouth and bury the evidence. "Jesper?" He licked his teeth and faced her. She stood a few feet away, her red and blue outfit popping against the snow. She tilted her head at him and he searched her face for any hints of fear, worry, or any clue she'd _seen_ — but the only thing that marred her face was curiosity.

"Sorry, I, uh, I had to —" he gestured to the snow. "I got thirsty and my can was empty."

"Jesper, Márgu? You out here?"

"Over here!" Jesper called. Alva appeared between the trees, eyebrows raised. "Eating snow again?"

He mustered as cheerful a grin as he could with his lips closed, "You know it."

"Well, we're putting the dolls up. Grab yours and let's go."

It was only then that Jesper realized he'd taken his doll with him. It was only as Alva and Márgu began walking back that he realized he'd gotten blood on it, red speckling his boxy uniform and the tips of his chin like some bad omen. That was fine. He could hide it. If he angled it right, no one would ever notice.

Everything was fine.

.

"You know, I think I got you pegged wrong this whole time," Mogens stated as he dumped another two bags with a swing of his arms. "When I first laid eyes on ya, I thought you were a spoiled brat. But look at you now — helping make toys for kids, spreading some holiday cheer. I underestimated you."

"What can I say?" Jesper smiled and it felt _sharp_. "I'm a bleeding heart."

.

It was getting worse. Jesper caught his breath, leaning against a tree trunk. He had shed his clothes and dug his hands through snow but the freezing temperature only brought him momentary relief. Blood soaked flowers lay at his feet and he still struggled for breath. He couldn't put if off any longer. After Christmas, he had to find a doctor. His hopes weren't aimed high but it was either that or — if the fairytale was right — turn into a tree.

Overheard, birds chirped. The birdhouses swayed in the wind and Jesper tried to imagine it: to be a tree in Klaus' forest. To stand tall and then one day cut at the base; chopped, and cleaved, and then crafted into something useful. Beautiful. Didn't seem like such a bad fate.

"Jesper?" Klaus' voice rang out. Jesper cursed and dropped to his knees. He needed to bury the evidence and had most of it buried when, but an inch from bulldozing the last few petals, the wind decided to take it away — blood splattering the ground as it did.

"Jesper, are you out here?" Klaus' voice was getting louder. He scrambled on hands and knees to catch the tiny petals in his palm, but the moment his hands closed around them they flew out of reach.

The crunch of Klaus' boots were growing louder.

"Don't you dare," he hissed at the traitorous wind. Over his cupped hands, he could spot a figure coming closer. The wind picked up and—

"Jesper?"

"Hey, Klaus." He peered up at the woodsman and smiled. "How ya doing?"

"Good. Is there any reason you're kneeling in the snow?"

"Leg cramp. Had to rest them for a bit."

Klaus gave him a stare that said, '_What you said was very strange but I'm too afraid to question it._' He'd gotten that stare a lot recently. "Do you need help?"

"Nope, I'm fine. It'll go away on its own. Did you need me for anything?"

"There were some toys that needed painting…"

"Leave them by the paint station and I'll get to them."

Klaus nodded his head. He seemed reluctant to leave but did with a, "I'll let you be then."

Jesper sighed as he lifted his knee. He peeled the petals from his pant leg, holding firm as the wind buffeted and arose with unnatural force. He buried these petals deep, deep into the snow, and got to his feet. He thanked his luck that he'd become an assistant painter. It provided a good alibi to explain away the blood stains.

.

"You missed one," Alva stated as she swiped the letter from his desk. Christmas was approaching soon and Alva and him had gone to the post office to collect some last minute letters.

He snatched it back from her. "That one's not for Klaus. That one's for my dad."

"Oh, writing home?"

"Yeah."

She eyed the bags he'd packed, sitting in the corner of the room, but didn't say a word.

.

The light from the stone furnace was dimming. Everyone else had gone home for the night but they had become accustomed to the night shift. Small wood shavings floated to the ground next to large snow boots.

"Klaus?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you promise me something?"

Klaus' eyes lifted from his work but he didn't say a thing.

"After this, after Christmas is over, promise me you won't stop making new memories."

"I won't stop making new memories, because we'll be making them together. " The words rumbled like thunder and pierced through lighting, through his skin, through his bones, through his heart. The wood shavings resumed floating to the floor and Jesper followed their descent until his eyes drooped and then opened no more.

.

"You're leaving?" Klaus asked.

"The packed bags in your office, the letter to your dad. It all makes sense. You duped us just so you could return to your puffed up life back in the big town!"

"No, I — that's not it — "

"So you _weren't _planning on leaving?"

"I was, but not until-" _Not until after Christmas,_ he wanted to say, but Alva was heading back inside, and then the rest of the volunteers were heading back inside, until only Klaus stood was left.

"Klaus-"

"Everyone's after something, right?"

.

He coughed one last petal before he entered the coach. It was so small compared to the rest that he almost didn't notice it. His father didn't notice it either. He let it drift to the snow, forgotten.

.

He was quiet on the coach ride to the docks. Despite the ice in his stomach, in his heart, on the top of his fingers, a burgeoning pressure was rising. He took a sip from his flask between his father's monologue but not even that could quell its ascent.

.

He sat on the bench. His dad sat across from him. He had begun talking about the virtues of work, the places your work takes you, setting roots. Jesper would have laughed if he wasn't desperate to keep it all in. "Are you sure you don't want to stay?" He asked.

Jesper shook his head. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the smile fade from Mogen's face; replaced with a bewildered frown. Jesper bowed his head, cradling his hat over his nose.

"Well then, anchors up, Captain. We're going home."

The boat swam from the docks in more of a rocky flow than a smooth dive, but off they went. Jesper watched as the lights of Smeerensburg became dull as the mist layered over it.

"You don't look pleased with your decision. In fact, you haven't looked pleased since I've picked you up. What's wrong, son? You can tell me."

"I'm sick."

"What-?"

"I'm sick, Dad."

He met his father's eyes and lowered his cap. Petals clung to his lips, stickied by blood and spit. He couldn't hold it back anymore. His chest deflated and more flowers bubbled up in a gush, spilling past his mouth and falling to the floor. The blood shone in the lantern light. "I've been sick for a while now."

Dad jumped to his feet. "Captain, turn this boat around right now. We need a doctor!"

"There's no-" Jesper held his sides and leaned forward, "There are no doctors in Smeerensburg."

"Then full steam ahead!" His dad leaned in, and he couldn't remember the last time he saw the sheer panic on his father's face. "Jesper," he said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Jesper, you know what I said about cutting you off — it wasn't — if you'd have told me about your condition, I would've lifted the ban. I would've never forced you to stay here until you finished if I'd known."

"I know, Dad." And he did know. The warmth that coursed through him at this simple fact pierced his lungs and left him heaving.

"Then why?"

"Jesper!" He lifted his head at the high-pitch cry of his name.

The sharp high-pitched cry soon became dwarfed by a gruffer, louder, "Jesper!" that struck right through his heart. It was Klaus' voice. Klaus had come to see him off. He rose to shaky feet, gripping the boat's railing for support. There, on the dock, was Klaus and Márgu. This far away he could only make out a faint outline of them, but their figures were unmistakable. They came to say goodbye to him. Relief burst in his chest. Did they forgive him? Why else would they be there if they didn't forgive him? He waved at them and they waved back.

"Jesper!' Klaus called.

"I'll come back," he shouted, not caring how his throat throbbed with a thousand tiny pins and needles, "Soon, I'll come back!" The boat lurched, and it was only his father's fast reflexes that prevented him from taking a dip into the freezing sea.

"Sit down!" His father demanded. He sat, the sudden warmth rattling his chest making it hard to do anything but breathe and watch as Klaus and Márgu's silhouettes faded into the mist. "Is there anything that helps? Anything that will stop this?"

"Cold. Cold helps."

As his father tried searching for something suitable, he wondered how long it was until he, too, faded into the mist.

.

Mogen's hands trembled as he helped him off the boat. "You'll get better," the sailor said, "You'll be right as rain in no time and your throat will stop being sore and you won't have to eat snow anymore — "

"Mogens?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Sorry for getting blood on your boat."

"Heh. If you think that's the worst thing that's been on my boat, then you're mistaken."

A harsh round of coughs knocked him to his knees. Flowers and blood hit the snow, but a hand rubbing his back took away most of the pain.

"Mogens?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't tell them."

Hesitation flickered in dark brown eyes, before they relented with a soft: "Yeah, you're secret's safe with me."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When Jesper awoke, it was to soft fluffy pillows and the sounds of birds. When Jesper awoke, it was under the smoothest silk sheets. When Jesper awoke, the room was empty.

And, as he traced the bandages wrapped around his throat, he realized he was empty too.

.

"You're awake!" His dad fell to his knees at his bedside. "How are you feeling? Is everything all right? The doctors said — they warned me you might — "

"Wh-" He winced. His throat was raw, and it felt as if he'd swallowed glass shards.

"Don't talk. It'll be some time until your throat heals. Here." His dad handed him a slate and a piece of chalk. "Use this."

_What happened?_ He wrote.

"You went under the knife. It took a swarm of doctors to figure out what was wrong, and even then they couldn't explain it. Flowers were growing in your lungs. They said at the rate the flowers were growing, if you hadn't — if you'd waited any longer — " Tears welled up in his dad's eyes. He grabbed Jesper's hand and rubbed his thumb against his palm, but Jesper couldn't feel it; his skin numb to the sensation, as if a thick blanket lay between the points of contact. He removed his hand and picked up the slate.

A knock sounded on the door. The head butler, Mathias, poked his head in. He'd gotten more gray hairs since last Jesper saw him but he still had the hanging adam's apple; like a hen's wattle. "Sir-"

"I'm busy," His dad snapped.

Mathias bowed his head. "I'm sorry sir, but it's urgent."

"Did you hear me-" Jesper pulled at his dad's sleeve. He grabbed the slate. _You should go_. He wrote, _I'll be fine_.

His dad's features softened. He sighed and straightened. "Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"I'll be back after I handle this. Burghard should be up soon with breakfast. He'll be with you until you recover. Anything you need, anything at all, and he'll get it for you."

His dad left him in silence.

Jesper had forgotten how much he hated silences.

.

Burghard was the same as when he last saw him. Same top hat and red bowtie, same thick eyebrows and passive face. "Anything else, sir?" He asked as he finished drawing the curtains. Sunlight filtered into the room, illuminating the scrambled eggs, buttered bread, and creamy soup laid on the tray; designed for easy consumption; prepared specifically for him. The sunlight hit his skin, but he derived no warmth from it.

Jesper thought for a moment before grabbing the slate.

.

"_I don't want the giant to die," said the princess, "but I don't think I can love him. What do I do?"_

"_A tricky situation," cried the crow, "but I think I have the solution. Take the blade the prince gave you and wait until night hits. While he sleeps, carve his heart out. Once it's in your hands, you must remove the flowers, petal by petal, stem by stem until you get to the roots. Remove those too, but exercise caution, for if you do it wrong, the heart will fall apart, or even worse, you might remove his ability to feel forever."_

"_After you've done that, place it back in his chest and sew the skin back on. By morning he should wake and return to normal." The crow spread its wings. "I wish you good luck." It said, before flying away._

_The princess did as the crow told, sneaking into the giant's room at night and slicing into his chest. She removed the beating heart and plucked and pruned the flowers, careful not to tug too hard or dig too deep. After she was done, she returned the heart and sewed up his chest. For the next few days, the giant was distant and listless, as if living in a void, and the princess feared she'd messed up. Had she removed his ability to feel? Was her friend stuck emotionless forever?_

_But her fears soon proved untrue. The giant returned to his friendly demeanor, laughing and crying as he should, enjoying the sun and the stars. She asked him if he loved her and he said, "No." She waited for the flowers to return but they didn't. The princess rejoiced. It had worked!_

_But little did she know the price that was paid; that the giant would never again feel love as full and as deep as when he loved the princess._

_And so, they lived happily ever after._

.

Jesper closed the book and put it with the rest. The funny thing about fairy tales was that there was never only one version of the story.

So was that it? Was it a one-to-one? They took the flowers from him and he would never experience love the same way again? No, it wasn't a one-to-one. The giant had a flowering heart. His dad said his grew in his lungs. But even so, this gaping cavity in his chest, would it always be a part of him from now on?

Or maybe it _was _always a part of him. The galas, the stagecoaches, the clothes; the material things he bought and discarded on a whim; were those his futile attempts to fill this chasm?

Jesper stared at his hands. They were clean and smooth except a tiny pinpricks of scars that traveled the contours of his palms. He remembered admiring these hands once, between painting toys and discussing the best route for an efficient night out. He remembered feeling proud of them.

Now he felt nothing.

.

"And what are these?"

Jesper had never given much thought to the estate's garden before. Before, he had no clue what flowers were in bloom or whether it meant anything, beyond looking pretty — but things have changed. A month had passed. His throat had healed enough to talk. His dad had finally stopped hovering enough that he could leave the house.

"Those are hyacinths. They have a lot of different meanings depending on the color." Agnetha stated. She was the estate's head gardener with a voice like honey and arms as thick as trunks. She was a widow for 10 years now and had two kids around his age. One was a beginning blacksmith and between the both of them, they were saving up so the youngest could go to university.

Jesper pressed his fingers against the flower, feeling its soft texture. He recognized the long petals, the slight bend, the coloration. It had been the first time he'd felt out of breath; the day after Klaus slept over.

"What do yellow hyacinths mean?"

"Yellow hyacinths mean jealousy. Not the best thing to say in a bouquet, is it? It's a shame. They're so vibrant."

His throat closed around a lump in his throat; a phantom flower growing in his chest. He coughed, and it faded away.

"Are you all right, sir? Should I get the doctors?"

He raised a hand. "My throat is still sore, that's all."

"Should I get you a slate?"

He shook his head. "Keep going. I want to know about every flower you've helped grow."

She tittered, hands wringing in her apron. After some convincing, she continued her tour of the gardens, her hand on the small of his back as she guided him.

.

"These are snowdrops." She gestured to long-stemmed flowers with drooping white petals. "They mean hope and rebirth." She moved onto the next flower.

"And these are-"

"Lilacs." He leaned in and inhaled, letting their cloying fragrance wash over him.

"Very good. Do you know what they represent?"

"No, tell me."

"They represent the first stirrings of love. Romantic, isn't it?"

Jesper cracked a smile. "Very."

.

"You're serious about this."

Jesper switched the cooling iron for the one over the fire. He resumed smoothing over his uniform with the flat iron. "Yes."

"I'm not complaining. Sickness aside, I stand by my decision to have sent you to work, but you know you don't have to return to Smeerensburg. We can send a replacement. You can work somewhere closer; the main office, if you're willing?"

Jesper shook his head. "No, I have to go back."

He expected arguing. He expected a firm no. Instead, his dad walked into the room and told him to put the iron down, — and once he did, he hugged him. "I'm so proud of you." He said. A flash of warmth appeared in Jesper's chest but as quickly as it had come, it disappeared. He went through the motions of hugging back.

"You better write to me."

"I will, Dad."

"If you get sick, you take some rest and see a doctor; work be damned."

"Of course."

"I love you, son."

Jesper closed his eyes. "I love you too, Dad."

.

"One boat ride for Smeerensburg please." Jesper waited but Mogens kept snoring. Jesper leaned over and snapped his fingers. "Hey, boatman! I don't have all day!"

"Ah!" Mogens awoke with a start, feet slipping from their perch on the counter with a thump. He grumbled as he adjusted himself, hands rubbing grit from his eyes. "Hey, what's the big-" An eye popped open. Then the other. "Jesper!"

"The one and only."

Mogens rushed out of the shack, his smile as wide as the ocean blue. "You lived." He grabbed Jesper in a hug and _squeezed. _"Oh, I knew you would. Didn't I say you would? Yup, I said you'd make it and you did and you're here." As quick as Mogens picked him up, he set him back down again. "I would've sent you a get well bouquet, but I'd think you'd be sick of flowers by now."

The postman laughed. Warmth came to him, short and fleeting. Always fleeting. "Are we sure _you _don't need to see a doctor? You're acting real strange."

The punch to his arm was well-deserved. "Watch it." The boatman growled, but his frown didn't last long. "Come on," Mogens nodded his head to the boat, "I know some people who've been missing you."

.

"You're not coming with me?"

Mogens gave him a half-hearted salute. "Got something I have to pick up but I'll drop by later. Don't worry, everything should be right where you left it." And with that, he sailed off. Jesper watched him go, the sound of his merry whistling becoming quieter and quieter until he could only hear faint echoes of it bouncing off the water. Then, nothing.

He turned to face the town. An early morning fog created long, familiar silhouettes; much like the first time he arrived in Smeerensburg.

He took a deep breath and walked into the mist.

.

It wasn't long until the first person spotted him.

"The postman is back!"

After that, everyone was greeting him.

"It's nice to see you again, Postman Johannsen. Did you have a nice time with your family?"

"I missed you, Mr. Postman!"

"You're just in time, Mr. Postman. There will be a wedding later this week!"

He greeted them with small smiles and hellos. Kids ran up to him, telling him of the toys they'd gotten, the crumbs left on the plate in the morning; the sound of Klaus' sleigh as it rode through the night.

The emptiness grew bigger.

Halfway to the post office, the wind picked up. Gusts of it wound its way through the streets, fluttering skirts and billowing hair. Jesper's hand rose to grip the bill of his cap but it was too late.

"My hat!" Jesper shouted as it flew away.

"Jesper?"

Alva stood at the end of the street. Her eyes were wide.

"Alva."

She ran towards him with such vicious stomps the whole town turned around. Jesper braced himself for a slap to the face —

But received a hug instead.

"Oh, you missed me that much, huh?"

Then she slapped him.

"Ow!" He cupped his tender cheek. "What was that?"

Then she hugged him again.

"I'm delicate. Please don't slap me twice."

She slapped him in the arm this time, her head resting on his chest. "You are the stupidest man alive and I mean that in the best way possible." There were tears pooling in her eyes. Jesper wiped them away with a brush of his thumb. He tried to cling to the euphoria at having seen her, at having a friendship restored, but it faded away. It didn't matter. He held out his arm, and she accepted it.

.

The post office was much the same as he'd left it. Burghard, Drill Sergeant, and Mathias greeted him with frenzied clucks. He set his coat on a rack and turned to Alva.

"How did Christmas go?"

"Without a hitch. I don't know why you were complaining. I didn't run into any booby traps and the dogs were nice. Think you might've been exaggerating about the danger."

Jesper spluttered and Alva laughed at him, and it felt a little right. It felt good. All that was missing was —

The door banged open. Klaus walked in, panting as if he'd run a mile. He had wild eyes. Wild eyes that locked on him.

"Klaus, I'm sorry for — "

His mouth landed in a pile of white beard. Two arms held him tight against a broad chest. "I thought I lost you. I thought — " What he first believed to be Klaus shaking was proven wrong as tears dropped into his hair. "I thought I lost you like I lost Lydia. Don't do that again, Jesper. Don't leave again. I can't — I'm not strong enough ..."

He waited for the warmth to diffuse and vanish, he waited for the emptiness to suck in every feeling he had — but it kept building and building until it was leaking out of his eyes. He clutched Klaus' coat and buried himself in his beard.

"I'm sorry. I won't leave again. I promise." He croaked.

"Promise me. Promise you'll tell me if you're sick no matter what." Klaus pulled back, his large hands cupping Jesper's face. His eyes were a teary blue framed by red and Jesper couldn't put a cap on the love filling his veins if he tried.

"I promise," whispered Jesper.

.

They were settled around the wood furnace with cups of steaming hot cocoa in their hands and huddled in all the blankets Jesper owned.

"You're the one who told me that plants can't grow in people!"

"One, I said nothing-"

"You implied it! You gave me a look like I was dumber than a sack of potatoes!"

"That's because you are!"

Jesper gasped and placed a hand on his chest. "You take that back."

Klaus chuckled. He had been given the honorably dubious position of sitting between them but he didn't seem to mind. Jesper leaned against his arm and tried not to tear up at the fullness in his chest. They continued bickering until the door opened and in came —

"Márgu!"

"Jesper!" She leaped into the air and landed in their laps, her hat falling to the floor without a sound.

"One little girl successfully delivered," Mogens said from the doorway.

Jesper greeted Mogens with a smile before it soured in remembrance. "I told you not to tell them."

"I didn't." Mogens shrugged. "They figured it out on their own."

"How — ?"

"You're not as subtle as you think," Alva teased. Klaus stayed silent, his face solemn.

Jesper opened his mouth to ask, but a sudden tug on his collar distracted him. Whatever little Sámi he'd learned had vanished during his month away, leaving him clueless. He looked to Mogens.

"She's saying how nice it is to see you again, and how wonderful Christmas was, and asking you where your hat is."

"Ah, here," Klaus said. "Knew I forgot something." He fished out said hat out of his coat. Jesper accepted it with a confused smile, his fingers brushing against Klaus'.

"How did you — ?"

"Hey, come in and close the door behind you, will you?" Alva told Mogens. "It's still cold out and I'm freezing."

Mogens hesitated, his thumb fiddling with the door's handle, but then he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Cramped in here, ain't it?" He joked.

.

They caught up with each other until the stars came out. Mogens had to leave to take Márgu home and Alva had to head home to prepare for school the next day but Klaus and Jesper had gotten used to the night shift.

"Next year," Klaus whispered, "you and I will ride in the sleigh together. Alva's good, but I missed my postman."

Warmth filled his chest and he was full.

He was home.

(Later, he would find snowdrops growing under the porch.)

**Author's Note:**

> Original End Comments below:
> 
> Edit: Now with [lovely fanart!](https://twitter.com/_aelita15/status/1201804927955111936?s=20) Thank you @_aelita15 on twitter for drawing this! And thank you jjb-art on tumblr for drawing this [lovely fanart!](https://jjb-art.tumblr.com/post/189514683855/hello-first-things-first-let-me-tell-you-that)
> 
>   1. Flowers have a bunch of different meanings but these are the flowers I chose and what I intended them to mean  

>     1. The crisp morning air hit his cheeks and saliva pooled in his cheeks. He opened his mouth in time for the petals to fall: a few of those purples ones, and on top, something large, yellow and curved. [**Lilacs and yellow hyacinths** = first love and jealousy.]
>     2. He rested his head against the barn. Below him wasn't three or four loose petals, but a whole flower bud, small and pale pink except for flecks of red. [**Camellia **= Pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone and is given to someone who is missed]
>     3. The door was already open and he rushed through it — and soon he was thick in the trees, doubled over as something long and purple, coated in copper blood, clawed its way out of his mouth. [**Lavender **= peace] (Oh, the irony.)
>     4. Jesper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. On the floor sat a bunch of tiny wet petals soaked in a gob of spit. He took his time breathing — in and out — rubbing his throat as he did. [**chrysanthemum **= happiness]
>     5. Imagine his abject horror when petals landed on top of his closed first: a rounded, pointed crimson petal. [ **amaryllis **= pride.]
>   2. If you’ve never heard of this type of fanfic before, this is a Hanahaki Disease fic. Hanahaki Disease is described as follows: a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.  
  
Obviously I kind of butchered the standard protocol and instead of romantic love it’s just… love? Warm feelings that are kind of close to love?I’ll be honest, I don’t know what this fic is.  

>   3. The Giant Who Had No Heart is actually a real Norwegian story that you can look up. Again, I butchered it a little but the first half of it is pretty word for word.
>   4. European mistletoe are actually white, not red, so the joke doesn’t really land… but I wanted to keep it anyway so pretend there’s red mistletoe in Europe.
>   5. You can interpret the pairings as whatever you’d like. That being said, originally this was going to be strictly Klaus/Jesper, but then things happened? As I said in my last fic I ship Jesper with Mogens, Alva, and Klaus and I just think Jesper could fall in love with any of them -- platonic, familial, romantic; a mix of them or all three -- given the chance, and I guess I just wanted to write that.
>   6. Please tell me if you think I should tag any pairings in this just in case.
>   7. I always wondered what Margu was doing unsupervised in Smeerensburg when she apparently lives off island and there’s only one boatman that we see -- Honestly, her parents and her probably sail to the island to trade but then I had the image of Margu running around Mogen’s boat and… Yeah, so Mogens knows Saami and absolutely sent Margu to Jesper for shits and giggles.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I wrote this in a week so please excuse any mistakes.   
Find me on [twitter here!](https://twitter.com/Neverweremine1) I’ll be posting ‘what if’s and deleted scenes from the fic.


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